


High and Mighty

by melissaeverdeen13



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-18 10:15:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14210934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melissaeverdeen13/pseuds/melissaeverdeen13
Summary: Based on the promo pictures for an upcoming episode (what we'd like to see come of it.) Jackson and April eat the edibles that Arizona unknowingly hands out and fully experience their effects - together.





	High and Mighty

There had to have been something in those cookies. I can’t think of a single other reason why I’d be feeling the way I am - all loopy, lightheaded, and giggly. 

Now is not the time for me to be feeling any of those things. Luckily, I make it through the welcoming address to the board, trustees, and panel of surgeons, but that’s about all I can do. I blink hard and wobble back to my seat as the colors in the room jump from the walls and swim around my eyeballs. 

I take a deep breath and lick my lips, gripping my clipboard tightly like it might slip away. I look around the room and lock eyes with Jackson, who looks about as alarmed as I feel.

“What is going on?” I mouth, given he’s the only one I’m vaguely comfortable with enough to ask.

He shrugs and shakes his head, wide-eyed. I glance around at my other colleagues who ate the cookies too, but they must be hiding the effects much better than I am. Or maybe I look fine, and I’m just being paranoid. Am I being paranoid? Or am I the only one who’s being affected like this? Am I high off my ass, or am I having a stroke? 

I stumble up from my chair and subsequently attract the attention of everyone around me as I get to my feet. I offer a half-hearted apology to whoever’s standing at the podium - I don’t have the wherewithal to see who it is - and hurry out of the room. 

I need to splash some cold water on my face if I want to make it through the rest of this ceremony. Or meeting, or whatever it is. I stopped understanding what everyone was saying, whoever was speaking was going way too fast and it all sounded like drivel. 

When I get to the bathroom, I lean against the closed door with my fingers spread wide over it. The coolness feels good against my back, but when I close my eyes, the room spins. It’s not entirely bad - it’s almost soothing, in a way. When I open them again, the colors are blooming and beautiful in the fluorescent light. 

Something _ had _ to be in those cookies. That’s the only solution I can think of. But then why isn’t everyone else freaking out like I am?

Before I can dwell on that concept for long, the door jolts and forces me forward by a few steps. I look over my shoulder expecting a woman to enter, but instead, it’s Jackson. 

“What’re you doing here?” I ask, and my voice comes out strange and slow. At least, that’s how I hear it. 

“Followed you,” he says. 

“Are you okay?” I ask. “Do you feel…?”

“Oh, we’re high as fuck,” he says. “Those cookies Arizona gave everyone were laced with pot. And they’re potent as hell. How many did you have?”

“Three,” I answer, guilty. 

“Four,” he says, deadpan. He blinks slowly and lets out a long stream of air from his parted lips. 

“I’m high right now?” I ask, lifting my hands to stare at the palms. I have no idea why, but I do. Suddenly, the lines and creases are fascinating. I wonder if it’s realistic to learn the art of palm reading and maybe do it on the side. Then, I wonder where the hell that thought came from. 

“Bob Marley high,” Jackson says, and I crack up laughing. It wasn’t that funny, but I can’t stop. And, catching onto my giggles, he starts too. 

“How come… everyone else seemed… fine?” I ask, while trying to catch my breath through spouts of laughter. 

“I don’t think they had as many as we did,” he says. “Half or one at most.” 

“I was really hungry,” I say, then burst out laughing all over again. 

“Same here,” he says. “I haven’t eaten a good meal in forever.” 

“And those cookies counted as good to you?” I ask, eyebrows up. 

He shrugs. “I guess.” 

I scoff, waving my hands in an overly-dramatic manner. “God. What is Maggie feeding you, poor baby?” 

He rolls his eyes lightly and sighs. “Stop,” he says. 

“Don’t be ashamed, Jackie,” I say, using a nickname that only I know about from his childhood. 

“April,” he says.

“What?"

“She and I aren’t even a thing.” 

I squint at him. “I know you kissed.” 

“Yeah, so what,” he says. “If you’re this all-knower or whatever, you’d also know it meant nothing and she was desperate for attention. I don’t know, she was a warm body. It’s fucked up. It felt gross.” 

“Maybe ‘cause she’s your sister…” I trail off, singsong. 

“You can be so nasty when you wanna be,” he says, smirking. “If only people knew.”

“It’s the red hair,” I say, twirling a piece around my finger. 

“Little devil,” he says, and that nickname lights up something inside me that hasn’t been sparked in forever. That was something he used to call me a long, long time ago - back when we were married and getting very extracurricular in the bedroom. We had been up for anything and everything - I’d worked so hard on surprising him, and it earned me that nickname. I loved living up to it and seeing the look on his face when I showed him something new.

“She hasn’t come out in a while,” I say, leaning back against the sinks in a way that comes so easily. It reminds me of years and years ago, when we slept together the second time. ‘Slept together’ isn’t so much the right term for that instance, though. That day, in the blindingly green bathroom at the boards, we fucked. And he fucked me good.

He takes a step closer, eyes bloodshot and watery. I figure mine must look similar. I remember back when we were together and got high one time - it freaked me out too much then and it wasn’t fun. I spent too much time being paranoid and waiting for it to fade. This feels nothing like that did. Now, it feels like I’m swimming in my own body and all I want is for something (or someone) to push me over the edge and make me feel everything at once.

I chuckle to myself, letting my shoulders bounce, and he keeps on getting closer. 

“What’s funny,” he murmurs, now breathing my air. 

I look up at him. His skin is more beautiful than ever, the color of his red-rimmed eyes is popping as usual. All I want to do is touch him. 

“Remember when you said something about our track record in hotels,” I say. “In Montana.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Well, how about our track record in bathrooms?” I say.

He snorts. “We only have the one time.” 

“It should count as way more than that,” I say, then press a pointed finger to the middle of his chest. “You and your penis made me fail my boards.” 

“I’m just that good, huh…” he says, so close that our feet are parallel with one of his legs in between mine. “Dicked you down so good that you forgot everything you knew.” 

I shudder, closing my eyes from the feeling. Chills rise up on the back of my neck, and if I were sober I would beg myself to resist him. But now, I beg myself to give in. 

It doesn’t take much. 

“You promise the kiss with her meant nothing,” I whisper, both hands on his chest, trailing down. 

“Less than nothing,” he says. “All I kept thinking about was you.” 

“Liar,” I say, instantly. 

“No,” he says. “You and these pretty pink lips…” He traces the pout of my lower one and I let him, kissing the pad of his thumb as it rest there. He comes closer, turning his face to speak directly into my ear, whispering, “And that pretty pink pussy.” 

I blush and my eyes widen, but the heat rushes elsewhere, too. Right between my legs, where his hand sneaks and he cups my center with one hand over my dress pants. 

“Shit, Jackson,” I murmur, mind incredibly clouded. He was always amazing at dirty talk, but I never thought I’d hear him do it again. I don’t know how I’d react if I were sober, and I guess I’ll never know. Because I’m far from that right now. 

“Should I not have said that?” he asks, but he already knows the answer.

“You shouldn’t have,” I say, curling my fingers around the collar of his shirt. “But you did.” 

“Mm-hmm,” he says, then holds my hips before digging his fingers in and urging me forward. “There are a lot of things I shouldn’t have done, but did.”

“Yeah…” I say, and he lifts me up to rest on the sinks. Unlike last time when I wore that constricting pencil skirt, I can spread my knees as far as needed to accommodate his body between them. “And there are a lot of things I should’ve done, but didn’t.” 

“Fuck it all,” he says. “‘Cause it’s in the past and-” 

“Because we’re high,” I say, giggling with my lips near his. “So, kiss me.” 

He wastes no time. He holds the sides of my neck and crashes his lips to mine, and I savor the feeling. If my body felt good before, it feels amazing now with his mouth all over me - hands, too. They don’t stay on my neck for long; they move over my shoulders, my rib cage, before finding a place to land on the swell of my hips. He forces me forward so our torsos are flush together, and secures a hold on the small of my back. 

Our hot breath mixes when we come up for air, and we spend a moment breathing against each other’s mouths with parted lips. I grapple with the back of his neck to keep him close, and he digs his fingers in where they rest. 

Mirroring his hand placement, I move away from his neck and down his back. Luckily he came in without a lab coat, so all I have to do is untuck his shirt to find what I’m looking for. 

“What’re you doing,” he murmurs, lowering his lips to my jaw. 

“Back dimples,” I say. “I want your back dimples.” 

He laughs, low at first before it bursts from his throat like something blooming. “You’re funny,” he says. 

“You know they’re my favorite,” I say.

“Oh, I know,” he responds, as I make quick work of pulling his shirt out from his pants and slipping my hands under the fabric to land on his back. 

I search the warmth for a moment until I find the two indents that I used to be obsessed with, that I would trace while he was on top of me, inside me, making me his own. That I would run one hand over as he cooked breakfast shirtless, that I would playfully poke by the pool in the summer. 

“There they are.”

After I find the dimples, my hands skim lower to land on his ass. I squeeze it tight and he groans against my skin, that deep groan that’s so satisfying to elicit. He pushes my blazer away from my shoulders so it lands in a heap between the sinks, and I put my hands right back where they were.

“I wanna lay you down and fuck you,” he says. “Not in a bathroom.” 

My whole body erupts in chills again and I hold onto his tie as we break apart and make eye contact. “On-call room,” I say.

“I’ll check the hall,” he says, and walks towards the door before looking outside. I hop down from the sinks and follow once he says the coast is clear, and we lock ourselves inside the nearest empty room.

As he undresses me, it’s hard to keep from laughing. It doesn’t seem like this could be happening; I haven’t been this horny in a long time. I want him more than I ever have, or so it feels. I can’t wait to have him inside me again. 

“I don’t have condoms,” he says, once we’re both naked and lying on the bed. 

“Fuck condoms,” I giggle, watching him kiss a path down my body until he gets to my waist. 

“Alright, devil,” he says, pulling the skin of my stomach between his teeth and grabbing at my thighs for emphasis. He finds his way between my legs and kisses the shaved skin - I’m so used to staying hairless that I’ve made it a habit, even when I’m not with someone. Now, I’m glad for that. He pushes my thighs further apart and opens his mouth wider, taking in what’s presented. “God, you’re fuckin’ perfect,” he grunts, before voraciously attacking my core.

With my neck arched and my back much the same, to his surprise, I push his forehead away.

“What, you don’t want it?” he says, coming up with a sheen coated around his lips and chin. 

“I do,” I say. “I just don’t wanna wait… don’t make me wait.” 

His eyes glint and he holds my hips, bending to kiss the flat space between my breasts after paying attention to my straining nipples. He tweaks them slightly with both hands and turns me over, positioning me on my hands and knees in the way that lets me know he’s in control. Just the way I like it. 

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby,” he says, grabbing at my hip crease with one hand and holding his dick with the other. He taps it on my ass a few times and I curve my spine to welcome him, moaning with pleasure once he sinks inside. 

I’ve never had sex while high before. I’ve never done much of anything while high, because it was only that one time. Now, I regret the fact that we didn’t try this sooner, because every single sensation is elevated. I feel everything ten times clearer and more powerfully. Everything lights up inside my brain and demands to be acknowledged, and as he fucks me from behind, I have no chance in lasting all that long. 

“Jesus,” he says, thrusting. “Fuck, April.” 

“Yes…” I moan, eyebrows tilting towards each other. “Shit, baby, you feel amazing.” I whine and let out a long sigh, forcing my hips back against his pelvis. “Fuck me, Jackson. I want you to fuck me.” 

He goes harder - pulling out all the stops. He slams his hips against mine to create loud, skin-on-skin sounds, and shoves me further down onto the bed to completely overtake me. 

Neither of us were shy in the bedroom when we were married. We took pride in being somewhat kinky, and rough sex is nothing new. It’s actually pretty vanilla for what we’d been used to at one point.

I don’t want to come doing something vanilla with him, though. I know what I want, and if it were any other person or situation I might be afraid to ask. But here, with him, I’m not. 

“Jackson,” I say, reaching behind to place a hand on his hips and slow him down. “Flip me over.” 

“Why?” he asks. He loves doing it from behind - it’s one of his favorite positions. 

“I need you to do something,” I say, and he complies. Once I’m on my back, he guides his dick inside me again and I wrap my legs high around his waist, then hold his wrist and pull it forward. “Choke me,” I say. 

The grin that adorns his face is devilish, and that excites me even more. He keeps one hand on my waist and uses the other to easily wrap around my throat, his thumb pressing in on one side and fingers on the other. He doesn’t apply too much pressure - we know what we’re doing - but it’s just enough. 

“Such a good girl,” he says, scooping his hips at an angle to hit a spot even deeper inside. My eyelashes flutter as he puts pressure on the sides of my neck for two seconds at a time, letting up in a pattern we were once very used to.

He turns my head by manipulating my jaw, all the while keeping steady eye contact and asserting his dominance. He keeps a hand there while pumping his hips hard and fast, and my back scoots up the mattress each time due to the force he exerts.

“You wanna come, baby?” he asks, hitching my leg higher with his free hand. I nod, and he presses in on my neck so adrenaline rushes through my body and floods my veins. I’m so close to an orgasm, and he knows it. Every time I skirt the edge, he slows down and pulls back. “Beg for it.”

As I blink slowly, he takes the hand away from my neck and slips his thumb into my mouth. I suck on it forcefully while he continues to fuck me, going deeper and deeper with each thrust. My face is hot and he clenches his jaw when I run my teeth along his finger, then pulls it out to drag it across my lower lip, chin, and throat before closing in on my neck again. 

“Please,” I say, unable to say much more because of the placement of his hand. 

He knows this, and that’s what he likes. He’s always liked me completely at his mercy, and being dominated is something that turns me on. He’s the only one who knows. 

“I fuckin’ love the way you feel under me,” he says, keeping his hand right where it is. “You like that, baby? You like my cock in that tight little pussy?”

My eyes roll back and he presses in for two seconds, then lets me up again. When he bends to kiss me, he holds my jaw instead so I have room to talk. 

“I love it when you’re rough with me,” I say desperately. “It’s so… hot… when you choke me.” I take his wrist and move it back, and he gives me that same sly grin from earlier before going at me with such intensity that I have to hold onto his shoulders for stability. 

“Scream my name when you come,” he says, temples bulging as he forces his hips against mine. “Come on, baby.” 

I lift up to meet him as it happens, and the feeling is so euphoric and out of this world that it’s all I can think about. I grab his wrist with both hands and call his name so loudly that my voice breaks and shatters at its peak, and he collapses on top of me as he rides out his own orgasm. I wrap my legs around his waist and let myself twitch, buck and involuntarily spasm from what he just did to me. I press my face into his neck and give him open-mouthed kisses, running my tongue over the pulsing vein - the one of mine he’d just been holding. 

With him still inside me, I grab his shoulder blades and wrap my arms tight for something to hold onto. I lock my ankles around his ass and cling to him, not ready to let go quite yet. 

“That was so fucking good,” he says, kissing my shoulders and chest. “God, baby, you haven’t changed at all.” 

He lifts up and I run my hands down his face, over his stubble. “I know,” I say. 

“You let anyone else do that to you?” he asks. 

I shake my head, and he smiles triumphantly before lowering to kiss me full on the mouth - sound and sure. I’m not positive what that means, or what this whole thing meant, but I’m still too high to care. That felt too good for me to obsess over it yet. 

We don’t allow ourselves much time to lie there and bask in the afterglow. I rest with an ear overtop his heartbeat and he draws nonsense shapes over my bare back, but for less than ten minutes. We silently agree it’s time to get up before much time passes, and we redress ourselves as best we can. We both look sloppy, and that’s generous. 

“We’ll just go back to the ceremony,” I say, though my brain is still going haywire from the edibles. 

“Sure,” he says, but when we open the door, we aren’t met with an empty hallway like before. Instead, Catherine Avery is standing there wearing a foul expression and holding something in her hands that I recognize. 

“Really,” she says, completely unamused. “Really!” 

Neither Jackson nor myself bother with excuses - we’re too high. We just stand there, bug-eyed and gaping. 

“The judge of this entire damn competition and my degenerate of a son, who I now wish had never been awarded the prize. Off screwing - loudly, mind you - in an on-call room. Classy! Amazingly upstanding for the Avery name, both of you.” 

She shakes her head and starts to walk off. We still have nothing to say. 

Then, she spins on a heel and holds out her hand, offering me what she’s holding. “Your blazer, you little horny beast,” she says, waving it. I quickly take it and put it back on over my shirt. “You two are mighty brave, I’ll give you that.” 

Without another word, she walks down the hall and leaves us standing shoulder-to-shoulder, with everything to say and no idea how to say it.


End file.
